The frustration finally boiled over. I was working on a research paper for my class in architectural history and getting nowhere fast. I stared at the computer screen and didn’t type anything for twenty minutes at a time. Finally, I stood up and threw a book across the room. I’d never done it before, but it felt surprisingly good, so I pitched a second and a third.

I stared at the books splayed out on the floor. I was a neat and tidy person, and I rarely tolerated things out of my place in my room, but a sense of freedom crept into my consciousness when I stared at the books.

Five minutes later an expected knock sounded on the door. I heard Cal’s voice asking, “James, are you okay? It sounds like you’re throwing things around.”

I pulled the door open a crack. “I’m fine. I’m frustrated by the paper I’m working on.”

Cal leaned against the door to push it open. I relented and let him step into the room. He saw the books immediately and asked, “Throwing books around is helping?”

“Well, you never know. Maybe if I throw it just the right way, then the ideas will jump from the book into my computer.”

“Good luck with that one.” Cal sat at the foot of my bed. It was a clear indication that he wasn’t planning on leaving until he found out more information. He said, “At the risk of sounding like a dad, I’m going to say it’s not just about the paper, and I know that. You’ve been moping around for more than a week. That’s not like you at all. You’re our sickeningly bright beam of sunshine most days. Spill it, James. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t heard anything from Lucas, and I’m worried.” Worry wasn’t the whole story of my feelings about Lucas. I was lonely, too. Our daily contact made me feel like there was someone close. Now I was alone again.

“The Dutch guy?” asked Cal.

“Yeah, the Dutch guy.”

“Have you tried sending a text?”

I descended into petulance at an alarming speed. “If he wanted to hear from me, then he would send a text to me.”

Cal held up his hands and backed up on the foot of the bed. “I’m clean out of ideas, then. Maybe you need to push him to the back of your thoughts and buck up. It’s a big world. I’m going to grab the dad attitude again and say there are a lot of fish in the sea. You just found a particularly pretty one. Go for the meaty one next.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A fat guy?”

Cal laughed out loud. “I meant a guy with substance. Don’t just grab the prettiest package off the shelf. Find out more about him before you leap.”

I asked, “Is that how you ended up with Sheri? She’s so perfectly put together that she could be a supermodel.”

Cal waved his hand. “I’m still in dad mode. Do as I say, not as I did. Don’t distract me from the points I’m trying to make. I got lucky with Sheri. She’s not just pretty. She’s smart, too. After all, she’s the one that chose me.”

I whispered, “Lucas asked me to race.”

Cal threw his hands into the air in frustration. He smiled at me at the same time. “I don’t know what to do with you. I guess you’ll have to sort it out yourself. My best suggestion is to get out of this room once in a while. Try doing more than classes and hockey practice.”

“I should make a snowman in the front yard?”

“Sure, why not.”

* * *

I followed Cal’s suggestion and spent a little more time outside for the next couple of days. It helped. I didn’t know whether it was the additional sunshine or something else that took a little bit of concentration, but my mood began to lift.

A surprise waited for me the next day after hockey practice. One of my teammates, Jordi, sat on the bench in the locker room with me while I was pulling my socks and street shoes back on my feet. He said, “Hey, James, I know we don’t hang out much, but I heard you might be interested in trying out speed skating at the oval in Minneapolis.”

I stared at Jordi. I barely knew him at all. He was a freshman who made the team by the skin of his teeth. He saw little on-ice action during games, but at least he had the benefit of interacting with veteran players and the challenge of trying to keep up. I remembered seeing him in drills on occasion, but otherwise, he was outside of my view most of the time. I attempted to size him up while he spoke.

I asked, “Who said that? I mean, I’m not saying no, but we barely know each other.”

Jordi grinned. He said, “I’ve been racing on skates since I was ten. I just started playing hockey in high school. One of my friends invited me to be part of an informal league they have in the Twin Cities. I guess my heart’s still in speed skating, but I like hockey, too.”

“That’s all great, but it doesn’t explain to me why you think I would want to speed skate.” I suspected Jordi had other information that he wasn’t sharing. I wanted to get to the bottom of stories that were circulating about me.

“Coach Collins suggested it. He kept me after practice the other day and drilled me on turns, stops, and starts. Then he said, ‘You’re a speed skater, right?’ When I nodded, he said that I should talk to you. He said you’ve been experimenting.”

I tried not to smirk at Jordi. I’m not sure experimentation was the right term, but I appreciated Coach Collins trying to look out for my welfare. Thinking about doing real speed skating put a lump in my throat because it led to thinking about Lucas.

As I listened to Jordi, I wondered if getting out on a speed skating track might be one way to deal with my thoughts about Lucas. It would be like working out a muscle while it was in the process of healing. I knew that I would need to take it easy, but indulging my curiosity about racing on skates might make me stronger in the end.

I asked, “So when do you go up to Minneapolis?”

“I try to go almost every weekend this time of year. I try to squeeze it in around the hockey games. I know a high school kid and his family in town. They can usually give me a ride. I bet they would be happy to have you tag along. You’re a great hockey player, so you can tell them more if the kid is curious about the game.”

* * *

Jordi’s high school buddy was a tall, lanky blonde kid named Eric. As a Minnesotan, his heritage was likely Scandinavian, and he wore his hair cut short, but he reminded me of Lucas when I saw his blue eyes. By the time we arrived in Minneapolis after a forty-five-minute drive, the differences were apparent.

Lucas was somewhat quiet, at least soft-spoken, much of the time. Eric was the opposite. He told stories about girls he liked, teachers he didn’t like, and classes that made him struggle. The entire ride was practically a monologue about high school. Eric sat in the front seat with his mom, and he occasionally looked back at Jordi and me in the back seat to make sure we were listening.

I exchanged glances with Jordi when the most outrageous comments came out of Eric’s mouth. Jordi shrugged helplessly in response. As we exited the car, I held Jordi back in the parking lot and said, “Now I know why you dragged me along. You didn’t want to listen to the ‘High School Commentary’ show alone.”

Jordi laughed. He said, “It is a little over the top.”

I started to reply, but I was interrupted by Eric who grabbed Jordi’s shoulder. “Come on; we need to get some free skate time in before they start the races.”

I asked, “There’s racing today?”

Jordi nodded as we stepped through the front door of the athletic center. Speed skating wasn’t the only sport that took place in the center, but it held the sole speed skating track for hours around. Jordi said, “They have races every weekend in the winter after open public time for free skating. They even have ones for novice speed skaters if you want to try racing today.”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I was excited to rent the skates because Lucas explained they felt significantly different from hockey skates. The speed skating blades were longer and thinner since racing didn’t require sudden stops, starts, and turns. When I asked Jordi if they had both long and short track skates, he shook his head. “I think all the rentals are short track. They don’t have those long track clap skates. The track is a short one, and at least ninety percent of the skaters here are interested in short track.”

When I stepped onto the ice with the speed skates attached to my feet, my heart thumped hard in my chest. The gliding was even more effortless than my trips around the rink in my hockey skates. I tried to stay on the outside to avoid any other skaters. I soon discovered that I was faster than the majority of the people on the ice. Eric caught up with me while I rested near the entrance to the track and said, “Wow, you’re impressive for a beginner. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

I explained that I tried a little bit of racing with a friend using regular old figure skates. I said, “This is my first time on speed skates.”

He said, “My coach asked me who you were. He said you should consider going to Milwaukee if you want to race.”

I asked, “Milwaukee?”

“That’s where a lot of the best American speed skaters train. Their tracks are officially Olympic-sized, and some great coaches live and work there.”

I felt a surge of excitement in my chest, but it didn’t take long for me to remember my position on the hockey team. I knew that I could consider a more serious approach to speed skating when the current season was over, but I couldn’t make any sudden, rash decisions.

After the races began, I found Jordi sitting on a bench. I asked, “Do you enter the races?”

“I sometimes do. I’m going to sit it out today, but Eric will be out there. After he wins, he might be a little insufferable on the way home.”

“It gets worse?”

Jordi nodded.

I said, “You said after he wins like it’s a guarantee. Is he that talented?”

Jordi looked at me and said, “He’s pretty darn good. I wish I had half of his inborn talent. His parents are paying for big ticket coaching. He’ll spend the summer down in Milwaukee, and I’ve heard them talk about moving to Wisconsin so he can train for the national team.”

I whispered, “Wow.”

“Why don’t you enter one of the novice races, James? I would love to see you out there. I bet you’d do well. I’d even put some money down on you winning.”

“Winning?” I asked. “I don’t really…”

Jordi said, “You need to enter because you don’t understand what a natural you are.”

I caved and entered my name for the novice 1000 meter race. When it came time for the race to begin, I was lined up with four other skaters. We were the entire field for the 1000 meter event. I stood at the starting line in the center with two men that were older than me to my right. One appeared to be at least 40. To my left were two girls who looked high school age. They were giggling until the starter called us to our marks.

I was shocked how easy it was to pull out in front of the rest of the group. No one challenged my position, but I worked to go faster. I loved the sensation of the speed. Maybe Lucas was right. Maybe I was born to go fast. Spontaneous applause erupted from the gathered crowd when I crossed the finish line in first place. I knew that my form was likely awkward, but it was good enough to glide through my very first race.

Jordi high-fived as I stepped off the ice. He said, “I don’t like to brag, but I would have won big money betting on you.”

He was also right about the ride home. No one listening would have guessed that I won anything during the day. We heard all about Eric’s victories. He won two races, and he was determined to make sure we didn’t forget it.

Eric’s coach knew that I skated. He slipped me a business card and suggested that I talk to him about Milwaukee before we left. After we climbed into the car, we endured another monologue from Eric. This time it was an intricate dissection of each race he entered and his skills on the skates. Jordi and I looked at each other and sighed with relief when we arrived back on campus and exited the car.